


Baelor

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: Unfinished Business [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Cuckolding, F/M, First Time, Jon as the Unburnt, Jon in King's Landing, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: They should have seen it coming. They both knew they'd grown careless, but they couldn't resist the inevitable pull. They couldn't walk away from the comfort they'd found in each other's bodies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing around with some fic ideas all starting from the premise that Jon is fireproof.
> 
> I think there will be about 4 unrelated short fics and oneshots in the series. This is the first. Jon has gone South with Ned and the girls to look after them.

_They should have seen it coming. They both knew they'd grown careless, but they couldn't resist the inevitable pull. They couldn't walk away from the comfort they'd found in each other's bodies._

_Tyrion had known and he'd taken the secret to his grave. He'd stood there blinking and staring when he'd found his wife in her bastard brother's arms. Sansa remembered thinking he might have mistaken their compromising postion for a brotherly embrace, if it hadn't been for the fact that they were both naked._

_She'd thought then the moment had come. They'd be outed and punished and killed. Nothing of the sort had happened, because Tyrion had only huffed out a short, sharp laugh before urging Jon to be quick about putting a babe in her belly._

_***_

It started innocently enough. When Lord Eddard was arrested for treason, Jon used the secret passages he and Arya had discovered to sneak into the Black Cells. Afterwards he came to Sansa's chambers to tell her what he'd discovered. She was so frightened she forgot all about propriety and being a lady. All she wanted was for someone older and wiser to protect her, so she asked him to climb into the bed to hold her. He did so hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, "I couldn't find her."

"Don't be," she answered him, "if even you can't find her, she must have gotten away. And if they killed her, we would know by now, wouldn't we, Jon?"

He hummed vaguely. She didn't dare look up to meet his eyes. He continued: "I told him I could get him out, but he said it was too dangerous. For me. For you."

Sansa nodded into his chest, not understanding. "They say he's a traitor. I can't believe it, Jon. I won't. Do you?"

He started stroking her hair and sighed. "I- he says Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen... They're not the King's. They're all Jaime Lannister's- children. He's the Queen's lover."

 _Oh._ Sansa didn't know what to make of that. 

"Of course, Queen Cersei denies it and says it's a ruse so he and Lord Stannis can take the throne for themselves."

"Father wouldn't do that," she objected. "Why won't anyone help him?"

"I don't know."

They lay close together in silence for a couple of minutes, while Sansa tried to hold back her tears. Jon took a deep breath. "Can you keep a secret, Sansa?"

This time she did look up to meet his eyes and Jon told her the truth Father had revealed to him. "It doesn't matter," she tried to reassure him. "You're still my brother."

She could see him frown, even in the dim light of her bedroom. "You've never called me brother before."

It was true. She'd always called him half-brother, because that's what he was. Except he'd just told her he wasn't. "Would you prefer cousin? I don't understand, Jon. Why did Father lie to us? To my Lady Mother?"

***

Jon wasn't there when Father was killed, but that night he came to her again and held her until she had used up all of her tears. He never spoke a word and she loved him for it. This was no place or time for words. There was only pain and comfort in the silence of the dark.

The first time Jon saw Ser Meryn hit Sansa in the face, he launched himself forward like a madman. Joffrey's Kingsguard beat him so hard he lost consciousness. For days Sansa feared he had died, until he was brought into the Throne Room, barely able to walk without support, his face green and yellow and purple, and littered with cuts.

"Attacking a Kingsguard is a grave offence," Joffrey announced, curling his wormy lips into a threatening smile. "You need a severe punishment, Snow."

She could see Jon's legs tremble as he straightened himself, squaring his shoulders. "Do whatever you want to me,  _Your Grace._ Beat me again, kill me if you must, it means little to me, but perhaps this time you could grant me the courtesy of doing it yourself."

Loud gasps rose up across the Throne Room and Sansa realized she had let out one of them. Joffrey was seething. "I'm the King! Do you think I'd dishonour myself by laying a finger on a vile bastard like you?"

In that moment Sansa saw it. Both men -boys still actually- were trembling, Joffrey with rage, a mad gleam in his eyes and his fat lips wet with saliva; Jon from the effort it took him to stand tall, his face a stony mask and a defiant look in his eyes.

She'd thought Joffrey would be her golden prince who'd love her and make her a princess, just like in the songs, but it turned out he was the monster. And the monster had won. She would have believed it meant there were no heroes, if it wasn't for the fact that Jon was standing only a few feet away from her.

"In fact," Joffrey continued, startling her from her thoughts, "no one will lay a finger on you, bastard. I said you'd be punished, but I never mentioned we'd hurt you again."

Sansa was pushed onto her knees by a mailed fist and Jon reached out instinctively. Two Lannister men grabbed his arms to hold him back. "Your sister will receive the punishment, but do not worry, Jon Snow, I'm a fair king. Should she act insolent or untoward to me, you will take the beating."

She didn't look at him. She knew she'd break if she met his eyes.  _Be brave,_ she told herself,  _like a lady in a song. Be strong, like Jon._ His screams of protest died out quickly when Joffrey warned him that struggling would only increase the severity of the sentence.

She tried not to cry out, but in the end she couldn't bare it any longer and she did. And so did Jon. That night he couldn't hold her, the skin and flesh of her back were too raw, but she lay on her stomach, head pillowed on his chest. He swore he'd never let it happen again. She knew it was a promise he couldn't keep, but she wanted to believe it all the same.

***

Months passed like that and Sansa thought that only the nights kept her from losing her sanity. She still spent too many of them alone, but they knew it wasn't worth the risk. Once or twice a week had to be enough.

It was after one of those nights she woke up before dawn and she felt something slick and sticky on the insides of her thighs. Panic had her heart hammering in her throat when she pulled her hand back and found her fingertips red. "Jon," she whispered urgently, trying to keep the frenzy from her voice as she sat up, "you need to leave now."

It wasn't the first time she'd woken him up like that and he almost obeyed without question, but then he registered the look on her face. He grabbed her wrist and as his eyes fell on the blood on her fingers, he gasped. "Sansa, what happened?"

She turned her face away in shame. "It's nothing, Jon."

"That doesn't look like nothing!" he exclaimed in an incredulous voice. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go of her arm. "Let me go, Jon! I'm bleeding all over the bed!"

"What? How?"

Her face had turned almost as red as her fingertips. He finally released her hand as realization dawned on his face. He shuffled away from her in embarassment and muttered that he should indeed be leaving, until a sob broke from Sansa's throat. "No, no, no. This means I'm a woman now, Jon. This means... This means..."

She was choking on the words, her throat painfully constricting. Panic, horror and concern warred in Jon's eyes, but in the end he pulled her to him and tucked her against his chest. He tried to soothe her. "It's only a little blood."

"It's not. They'll wed me to Joffrey now. I'm ready to bear his children."

"No," Jon assured her. "I won't let them. I'll help you turn over the mattress and I'll get rid of the sheets and... and..."

She retreated to look at his face. He was obviously still embarassed by the awkwardness of the situation, but he was going to help her. For the first time since she'd opened her eyes, she was glad she hadn't woken up alone. She probably would have thought about trying to hide the evidence herself, but the mattress was much too heavy for her.

She realized her breathing had somewhat returned back to normal. "Thank you, Jon."

"You're welcome," he whispered. Their eyes locked for a moment that lasted too long and suddenly he was pressing his lips to hers. It was soft and chaste and over in the blink of an eye, but it was her first real kiss nonetheless and it changed everything.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They managed to keep Sansa's transition into womanhood concealed for three months. Jon smuggled rags into her chambers and Sansa buried the used ones under the roots of the Heart Tree on her daily visits to the Red Keep's Godswood.

While Sansa was given freedom of the castle, Jon was to be retained in his sleeping quarters for most of the day. In the mornings he was allowed to take a walk in the courtyard, accompanied by Lannister guards. He wasn't permitted to leave his rooms alone or to talk to anyone.

He was granted private visits to the Godswood twice a week however and Sansa joined him there as often as possible. It was another opportunity for them to be together and talk. If Joffrey or Cersei had known, they wouldn't have let her go there when Jon was visiting, but that's where the tunnels came into play.

Jon also used them to sneak into the Godswood at night, so he could keep practicing his swordsmanship skills. Sansa hardly slept when she knew or suspected him to be out there. She begged him to stop, tried to convince him it wasn't worth the risk, but he insisted he needed to stay strong so he could protect her.

The fourth time Sansa got her moon blood there was a storm that lasted for days and she wasn't able to go to the Godswood during all of that time. One of the maids Cersei had assigned to her caught her trying to burn her dirty rags. Her rooms were searched and the stain on the underside of the mattress was discovered. Cersei easily deducted she'd been trying to hide the truth for a while.

Sansa was almost proud of herself for managing to withhold Jon's involvement in the scheme, but in the end it didn't matter. Since Sansa was the one who'd committed the transgression, Joffrey was adamant on keeping his promise to be a fair king and decided Jon was the one who needed to be punished this time.

He made her watch as the Kingsguard beat Jon until he lost consciousness, but something died inside of her long before they reached that moment. _Please don't,_ she whispered under her breath when she saw him resist, trying to keep a straight face as they did their best to break him. At one point, Jon glanced up and she met his eyes and she almost gasped at the empty look in them.

***

Sansa told herself not to wait for him that night, tried not to linger in the Godswood the next day. She knew it would take days until he'd be able to visit her or go out, but she couldn't help it. She forced herself to stay awake a little longer every night. She looked up at the slightest sound as she spent more and more of her time in the Godswood, disappointed every time she found out it was only a bird.  _They'd tell me if he was dead,_ she tried to reassure herself when her patience started wearing thin,  _Joffrey would want to see the look on my face._

After ten days there was still no sign of Jon. She considered trying to sneak into his rooms, but slowly her fear started to morph into a nauseating suspicion, causing her breath to get stuck in her throat at the most unexpected moments. Perhaps Jon didn't want to see her anymore. It was her fault after all. If she'd been more careful, if she hadn't been so stupid and craven, they wouldn't have hurt him.  _What if he hates me now?_ She couldn't even blame him.

A fortnight had passed since Jon's punishment and Sansa sat under the Heart Tree in the Godswood, trying not to cry after Joffrey had scolded her for the dark circles that had appeared under her eyes.  _"You know I need you to be pretty,"_ he'd hissed at her, before ordering Ser Boros to punch her in the stomach. None of it should matter anymore, but she was all alone now.  _But not right now,_ the thought came to her unbidden. She could feel it, she was being watched. She looked up slowly, glancing around with an air of disinterest.

She spotted him in an instant, half-hidden behind a tree, only ten feet away from her. Her heart sang out his name:  _Jon! Jon! Jon!_ For a moment their eyes locked and then he was gone, turning his back to her. Her tears finally fell as she watched him limp away from her.

***

When Sansa entered her bedroom three days later, she almost turned on her heel and strode out again. Jon was standing at the foot of her bed and she couldn't bear to look at his face, but she knew she had to hide her emotions. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of making her run away from him. Instead she stuck her nose in the air and asked him coolly: "What are you doing here?"

She saw the hurt in his eyes before he bit back: "Fine! I'll leave!"

He rushed past her, brushing against her arm. The fleeting contact made her gasp and she reached for his hand involuntarily. He looked down at her fingers gripping his wrist, eyes hard. "Why?" she asked him.

"Why what?" he threw back in an indifferent voice. She snapped, whirling around to face him. Her lack of sleep and his prolonged absence had driven her over an edge she hadn't been aware she was heading to. Her fists started pounding into his chest and he flinched. "How dare you come in here?" she screeched at him.

His hand closed over her mouth as he wrapped the other around both of her wrists. She tried to open her mouth again, but his palm pressed down on her lips with more force. She squinted her eyes at his glaring ones. "Be quiet," he hissed at her. "Do you want the entire Red Keep to hear you?"

She slumped against him and he steadied her with his hands on her arms. "Why?" she repeated, "Why didn't you come to me?"

He sighed and removed one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "And why  _did_ you come to the Godswood?"

"I shouldn't have," he admitted, shaking his head.

"Then why did you?" she asked, satisfied the ice in her voice kept the tears at bay. 

His face softened. "I needed to see you..."

Her next question came out in a whisper. She couldn't trust her voice to stay steady. "Why did walk you away?" 

He smoothed her hair back from her temple. "They were watching me."

"That never stopped you before."

"I was being followed."

He didn't meet her eyes. She sighed. "I want the truth, Jon."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tracing the hollow under her eye with his thumb. "I didn't want you to see me like that again."

Sansa closed her eyes, trying not to lean into the touch of his hand. "Like what?"

She opened her eyes again to see his reaction. He pursed his lips. "Weak."

Her breath hitched. "So- You don't hate me? For what they did to you?"

He shook his head, frowning. "What? No... I hate myself, for not being able to stop them. If they can hurt me, they could hurt you again as well."

"Please, don't," she whispered, snaking her arms under his so she could wrap them around him, pressing herself close. She couldn't decide whether she was still angry at him or simply at everyone else. She didn't understand half of what was happening to them these days. All she knew was that she needed him, that with him was the only place she felt safe. She tilted her head up, surprised to find their faces so close together.

Jon's breath washed over her face and she met his eyes. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth. She hadn't felt his lips on hers since that first time. He'd kissed her since then. He'd kissed her hair and her forehead and her cheeks; her fingertips and her palms; but never her lips. She wouldn't wait for him to do it again any longer, she decided in that moment, so she leaned in until their lips touched. He stayed still under her kiss, so she released him reluctantly.

His face was still pulled into a frown. His expression was solemn when he asked: "Why do you want me, Sansa? Is it because you think I'm a prince now, like a hero from one of your songs?"

 _You are,_ a voice in the back of her mind insisted, but it wouldn't do to tell him that. "You're all I have left, Jon," she told him instead, a blush appearing on her face as she came to a realization. "I'm afraid I'd even want you if I still thought you were my brother."

She didn't know whether that was the answer he'd wanted to hear, but it must have pleased him nonetheless, for this time he leaned in to capture her lips in another kiss. His hands curled themselves into her hair as hers clutched at his shoulders. She loved the feeling of his soft, warm lips moving against hers.

He surprised her by running his tongue against the seam of her lips, causing her to part them, which he seemed to like as she heard him make a content noise in the back of his throat. His tongue slipped into her opened mouth, licking into it and nudging her own. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant, so she started to mimick his movements, accidentally knocking their teeth together, but he only smiled and pulled her closer. As he continued licking and sucking at her lips and tongue, she felt an unfamiliar warmth in her belly. Her head started spinning and she pulled away, realizing she'd forgotten to breathe.

Jon's eyes were dark, his lips red and swollen and he was panting. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder to hide her smile. "Please, stay?" she whispered.

His voice sounded rough. "I shouldn't."

She smiled again.  _But you will._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one from Jon's POV...

"Robb will come for us, won't he, Jon?"

He didn't answer. Instead he just kept caressing her head where it was pillowed on his chest, running her smooth hair through his fingers. Once he would have challenged anyone who dared to claim otherwise, but now he couldn't be certain anymore. He hadn't lost faith in his brother, but he was no longer that boy of four-and-ten who believed Robb was a hero who could do anything. He closed his eyes.  _If you do come, Robb, may there still be some of her left by the time you get here._

As he inclined his head to kiss her hair, he murmured: "He will, Sansa, I promise."

It was a lie and he knew it, but what else could he tell her? He wrapped his arm around her a little more tightly, not sure who he was trying to comfort. Sansa didn't question his reassurance. She just sighed and fisted her hand into the fabric of his tunic. He tried to imagine Robb riding into King's Landing in a victory march. And if he did, would he be glad to see Jon? He wondered what Robb would say when he found out that he was not truly his brother. And that was only the least of his concerns.

Perhaps his brother would smile at him. But how could he, once he saw the scars on Sansa's body, the barely healed bruises, the empty look in her eyes? Jon had promised to protect her and he'd failed, not just once, but so many times he'd lost count. The worst was that the mad boy king had given him the illusion of control. As long as he was careful and he kept his temper under control, Sansa would be safe. He was aware how sick of a game it was, but there was nothing he could do about it, except keep the rage contained within himself to keep _her_ safe.

He'd succeeded as well as he could, until Joffrey had changed the rules. Robb had won victory after victory and someone needed to be punished. Jon had offered himself up to take the beating that first time, like the fool he was, but he should have known that was exactly what the Lannister brood wanted. Joffrey knew that Jon could take the physical pain and that he could hurt him in a far crueler way. So he'd been forced to watch, again and again.

He'd contemplated taking the monster out himself. He knew he could do it, even though he was aware he'd be killed before he could relish in the act. He didn't care too much about that, apart from the fact that it meant leaving Sansa to the mercy of Cersei Lannister. So he never did. He hoped Robb could understand and perhaps he would.

The reason Robb would never smile at him again, let alone call him brother or forgive him was more complicated. Still he couldn't stop himself. There was a light in her eyes when he held her in his arms, a light that burned even brighter when he kissed her. She needed this as much as he did. How could he refuse her what she wanted? She wouldn't want him if she knew all the other things he'd imagined doing with her.

He'd spent many a night alone in his bed fisting his cock, seeing her hair splayed out on her pillows, her big blue eyes, her plump pink lips. He'd held her in his arms so many times, so soft and warm and fantasized about letting his hands explore more of her silky skin, wondering about the colour of her nipples and the hair between her legs.

He was aware how wrong his base desires were. He'd grown up hearing that lustfulness was in a bastard's nature and he'd wanted nothing more than to prove them all wrong. Now he had not only failed, but he'd done so in the worst way possible. He lusted after a girl he'd called sister all his life. Sansa had more than once likened him to Aemon the Dragonknight, but he was certain her songs never mentioned such desires.

***

Ever since the day they'd taken the head of the man he still called father, Jon had been looking for ways to get Sansa out of the capital. He had since discovered a dozen ways to escape the Red Keep and the City itself, but the real trouble would begin once they were outside. With war looming on all sides, there simply wasn't a certain way to get her to a safe place without help. 

The surest method was to arrange passage on a ship to Seaguard or White Harbour, but for that he needed coin. He'd sneak out of the Red Keep to pawn off small trinkets and baubles and Sansa would sew the coins into her gowns to hide them. It was a good plan, until Stannis decided to move on the Blackwater and there weren't any ships to take them North anymore.

When her betrothal to Joffrey was broken, Sansa came to him, throwing herself into his arms. She kissed him, a wide grin on her face. "Do you think they'll let us go home now?"

All he could do was hold her closer and bury his face in her hair so he didn't have to meet her eyes, whispering: "I don't know."

Of course they weren't going to let them go home, but an opportunity presented itself shortly after.

"You should do it," he told her, staring up at the baldaquin over her bed.

She was lying on her back next to him, their legs touching and hands intertwined on her stomach. "What about you?"

He turned to look at her. "Perhaps they'll allow me to accompany you."

She offered him a watery smile. "But what if-"

"No," he insisted, squeezing her hand, holding her gaze. "Even if there's no way for me to come with you, you have to do this, Sansa."

She opened her mouth to object, so he silenced her with a kiss. "Don't worry about me."

He could guess what she was going to say and he knew she'd be right. The Lannisters would not be pleased and they'd take it out on him. Still, marrying Willas Tyrell might be the best chance Sansa was ever going to get, so she should take it, regardless of any repercussions, even if it meant the price he'd have to pay was his own life. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer. It describes an event that happened in canon, but it's different, because Jon is there to witness it.

Jon had never felt comfortable with the plan, not truly. It was wrong that Sansa was forced to make a choice that would determine the rest of her life under these circumstances. He'd already felt the guilt creeping up on him. There was a chance it meant he'd have to abandon her and if not, he'd be close to her, but never close enough, with her belonging to a man twice her age. 

Margaery had described Highgarden to Sansa and and as she'd repeated what she'd been told it sounded as if she could come to love it. By all reports, Willas was a kind man. With a little luck, Sansa could learn to become happy there. Then again, she'd believed she would be happy in the capital as well. It was ridiculous, he couldn't even guarantee her safety, why worry about her happiness.  _Sometimes there is no happy choice,_ he had told himself,  _only one less grievous than others._

As he stood frozen in place, looking at the dazed and unbelieving expression on her face, he felt like a fool for harbouring any sort of hope at all. She wasn't crying yet and he held his breath, waiting for the signs, but he couldn't detect them. Her eyes weren't glistening, there was no trembling lip or quivering chin. 

 _How did they find out?_ He blinked away the oncoming dizziness, finally exhaling, and met her eyes. What he saw there was worse than the empty look she'd adopted to shield herself.

"But- no, I..." he started to object weakly. "He wouldn't. Lord Tyrion was kind to us. He tried to help..."

Sansa huffed, a sound so uncharacteristic for her he parted his lips in surprise. "Perhaps he can protect me from Joffrey," she whispered so quietly he could barely hear her standing two feet away from her.

He wanted to rage at that, but his anger quickly simmered down. Instead he tried to focus on her face again, looking for any sign of emotion, ignoring the hollow feeling in his own chest.  _Ships are returning. I could arrange passage anywhere. It doesn't matter where, as long as I can get her out of here._ He would need some time of course. "When is the wedding?"

"On the morrow," she stated in a flat voice and before he could fully process all that entailed, she added: "I'd like to be alone now, Jon."

He nodded and turned around, leaving her there in the middle of the room.

***

The next morning he was forced into a bath and afterwards given clothes he suspected used to belong to his father - no uncle. He was brought before Tywin Lannister who regarded him with cold eyes. "It's true," he remarked, "you do have his look. You might still be of some use to us. Your sister is a ward of the Crown and as such, it is the King's duty to give her away on her wedding day, but I've decided to grant you that privilege."

His first instinct was to refuse. He wouldn't be an accomplice in this farce. He clenched his teeth and exhaled through his nose. Every fibre of his being was screaming for him to disobey, but he was no fool. He recognized a veiled threat even when it was delivered this way. 

He offered the Lannister a scowl and a curt nod. The man studied his face for a moment. "It seems you're wiser than your father and your trueborn brother. Pity."

They rode across the city, Jon heavily guarded by Lannister men. He let his eyes travel over all of their hidden faces, snorting.  _Do they really think I'd try to run without her?_

Sansa arrived at the Sept in a litter, shortly after him.  _Gods, you're a vision._ She was dressed in grey and white, her hair no longer up in one of those Southron styles, but falling down her shoulders in soft ringlets. Her red cheeks almost made her look the part of the blushing bride.

For a moment he allowed himself to drink her in and pretend it was just the two of them, but he knew that flushed look on her face too well. It was the one she'd had as a child when for once she hadn't gotten her way or someone had managed to upset her.

He hurried to her side to offer her his arm. She took it, but he felt her freeze immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the steps.  _That's where..._ She'd been right here. He folded his free hand over hers where it lay in the crook of his elbow. She met his eyes, seemingly almost surprised to see him there.

They were almost alone now, as they walked up the steps in a haze. Hidden by the shadows of the giant doorframe, he turned to face her, pulling her to him. He cupped her cheek with one hand. "Just say the word and we will run."

Her eyes widened but she shook her head quickly. He pursed his lips, briefly closing his eyes before inclining his head to rest his forehead against hers. "If he hurts you, I will kill him, I swear I will."

It was a futile threat, a vow he'd broken before he'd spoken the words, but she let out a small sigh all the same, her breath washing over his face. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her right here. He almost convinced himself he wouldn't care about the consequences, if it meant they wouldn't have to walk through those doors.

He'd never been inside a Sept before and he decided quickly he didn't understand why people thought the Gods were present here. It was said the Old Gods held no power in the South.  _Is that why this is happening to us? Or are the Seven so cruel they punish the ones who don't believe in them?_

Sansa did believe in them though, or at least she had. Was this how they had chosen to reward her? There were words and songs and vows and it never seemed to end. When the time came for Tyrion Lannister to bring Sansa under his cloak of protection, she refused to kneel.

Jon felt his heart swell with pride and love at her silent defiance. He couldn't wipe the smirk  off his face, but then the muttering began. He glared in the direction of some whisperers. In the end the Imp had to climb on a fool's back to sweep his cloak over her shoulders.

The wedding feast passed in a blur and Jon knew he had the wine to blame. When the dancing began he excused himself and no one stopped him. He had to get out of that room. He needed to make water and he could use some fresh air.

He knew he was being weak, but there was nothing he could do for Sansa and his presence there didn't seem to help her at all. Every time he met her eyes, she was closer to tears. He wouldn't do that to her, he wouldn't give them that satisfaction. 

Besides, he couldn't be there when they called for the bedding. He knew he'd end up doing something stupid. He kept walking on unsteady feet until he stepped out into some unfamiliar small courtyard and slumped against a wall.

He was startled awake by his own snores and he pulled in a large gulp of air. Some of the wine-induced fog had cleared from his mind.  _You craven! You've left her all alone!_

He started running back inside, not sure which direction to take. The feast was already over, only the most obstinate drunks still present at the tables. He needed to find her.  _Fool, you know exactly where she is!_

It appeared there was still not a soul interested in tracking his whereabouts, so he quickly made his way to the alcove which provided him a clear view of the door to Sansa's chambers. He wasn't certain what he was planning to do, but he stayed there anyway.

After half an hour the Imp came stumbling out. Jon balled his hands into fists and forced himself to stay put. He tried to wait as long as he could to make sure he wouldn't come back and then abandoned his hiding place to sneak into Sansa's rooms.

She was sitting in the middle of the bed, wearing only a silk shift, her eyes slightly unfocused. She was illuminated by some candles and the moonlight streaming in the window. He walked to the edge of the bed and whispered her name. "Sansa?"

She blinked and held out both of her arms to him. He kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed, pulling her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. As he held her to him, he made himself ask the question. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. He swallowed. He wouldn't be able to handle the answer to his next one. "Did- did he touch you?"

He cursed himself as he felt her hesitate. _All you have to do is listen. She had to endure more than that._ "No," she said eventually, "well, he did, but, not, not like- he couldn't. He said he wouldn't."

Jon sighed in relief, but he could feel Sansa tense up in his arms. She pushed against his chest, pulling away from him. "But what if he changes his mind? Tomorrow or the day after? A fortnight from now, or in a moon's turn?"

He stared at her, mouth hanging open. "And that's not even the worst of it," she whispered, clasping a hand over her mouth as soon as she'd said it. He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "What, Sansa? Tell me!"

She was close to tears now. "Joffrey came to me, after you left. He said if his uncle was not up to the task, he'd show him how to do it. He said he'd put a babe in me himself and make you and Lord Tyrion watch."

It seemed his anger had been depleted for the day. He could only stare at her, his own face undoubtedly reflecting the horror and disbelief on hers. She seemed to understand his inability to respond to her, but then her hands started clawing at her long white throat. "I can't- I can't breathe, Jon."

He pulled her to him again, trying to ignore the feel of her soft, warm body against his and started rubbing her back. "I'm here, sweet girl, I'm here."

After a while she took a couple of deep breaths and he felt her go rigid again. "I can't, Jon, I can't. I can't let one of them take my maidenhead. I don't want either of them to put a babe in me. Help me, Jon, please!"

He wanted to weep, but he just cradled the back of her neck and nuzzled his face into her cheek. "I don't know how."

She swallowed and said more calmly than she'd been all night. "You could do it."

"What?"

"Nothing was the way it's supposed to be today," she explained, "but tonight could be..."

"Sansa..." her name came out as a warning as he started moving away from her.

She took advantage of the distance to unlace her shift and pull it over her head, making quick work of it, so he could't object. She was all creamy skin and soft curves. Her rosy nipples were a shade darker than her lips and the hair between her legs was a brighter red than that on her head.

"Am I not pleasing enough for you, Jon?" There was uncertainty in her voice and she bit her lip.

"You're perfect," he told her in a breathless voice.

"Then take off your clothes and help me."

How could he not obey? He wanted her and she was asking him to do this. He tried to ignore the fact that she never would have wanted him, had their circumstances been different.  _But they aren't._ He'd felt so powerless all the time and it was such a relief to finally be able to do something for her.

He could give her this. They might be cursed by Gods and men alike, but he was past caring. He'd do anything for her and the Gods knew how much he'd wanted her.

He took off his doublet and tunic and pulled her into his lap again to kiss her. She was straddling him now and his cock was already straining to be freed.

He didn't know what he was doing, but neither did Sansa and she seemed content to let him lead the way. He let his hands glide up and down her back, moving lower to squeeze her arse. She let out a little squeal and he rolled her onto her back, hovering over her.

He rid himself of his last pieces of clothing and looked at her expectant face. It was hard to think at all with her bare before him and the wine still clouding his mind a little. He wanted to touch and kiss and taste every inch of that silky skin, so that's what he did.

Sansa made all kinds of sounds, moans, sighs, giggles and whimpers, that were nearly enough to undo him, especially when he sucked a nipple into his mouth and she bucked her hips up. "Jon, please, I-"

He nodded. It wasn't as if he could wait much longer anyway. She spread her legs for him and he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed.

Being inside her was beyond anything he could have imagined. She was impossibly tight around him, almost unbearably hot, and wet, he never knew it would be so wet. He'd heard bawdy songs and japes about it, but he hadn't understood.

He was brought back to his senses by her gasp. His eyes flew open to find her face contorted in pain. "Did I hurt you?"

She tried to shake her head, but it was no use, she couldn't hide her discomfort. His arms were straining under his weight and the effort it took him to hold back. His entire body was urging him to move, but he couldn't, not with that look on her face. He leaned down to kiss her, whispering "I'm sorry," against her lips.

"Don't be," she breathed, "I knew it would hurt, it'll pass. I just didn't expect- I didn't realize your member would be so big."

She reached up to brush some curls away from his face, avoiding his gaze as her cheeks flushed a dark red. She laced her fingers together around the back of his neck and nodded. He pulled out and pushed back into her and they gasped together this time.

They clung to each other clumsily and desperately, struggling to find a rhythm. After a couple of tries, they figured out how to move against one another. She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him in deeper. It took only a few more thrusts before he found his release inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and rolled to his side, pulling her with him. He brushed his lips over her temple, her cheek, her nose, her lips as he lay there panting. He opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you."

He frowned at her formal tone. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I felt something odd at the end," she said and then shrugged. "It will be different next time, when it doesn't hurt."

He already felt the guilt creeping up on him. "I'm sorry, Sansa."

"Don't be. You were sweet, Jon," she answered, but then her face fell. "Didn't- did you enjoy it?"

He grinned. "Very much."

She smiled back and tucked her head under his chin. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on her wedding night and awaits a visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was supposed to be short, but it turns out I can never make good on that promise...

As Sansa finally heard the click of the door shutting, she let out a sigh of relief. It had gone like this for the past sennight. A couple of days after the wedding Tyrion had announced they'd be sharing a bedroom from then on, because his Lord Father had instructed him  _"to produce an heir for Winterfell as soon as possible,"_ repeating the words he'd used on their wedding night.

She would drift in and out of sleep until Tyrion joined her at midnight and then she'd lie next to him, body rigid and unable to relax, waiting for him to take his rights. So far he hadn't, but she knew her luck was bound to run out soon. There was nothing she could do to stop him, but she wouldn't allow him to put a babe in her. She refused to bring a child into this world she'd never be able to love because it was a Lannister, but there was more to it.

They all thought she was a stupid little girl and she suspected even Jon didn't realize how well she understood the situation she found herself in. The Lannisters had married her to the Imp because of her claim, the same reason the Tyrells had wanted her to wed Willas, but what they truly needed was a child of her body. Bran and Rickon were dead and so was Arya. They'd kill Robb and her Lady Mother and probably Jon as well and as soon as she'd given Tyrion a couple of sons, they'd find a way to get rid of her too.

The last thing she could do for her family was make sure no Lannister would ever get his hands on Winterfell, not truly. Regardless of its name, her child would be a wolf, and a bit of a dragon too, she supposed, but that didn't matter. Winterfell would never be tainted by lion's blood.

All of these considerations hadn't had time to fully take shape inside her mind when Jon had entered her rooms on her wedding night, but she'd been determined to finally take what little power she had and make a decision of her own. She'd felt relief wash over her when Jon had not been able to refuse her, but she'd been terrified that first time nonetheless. 

Her heart had been hammering inside her chest so wildly the entire time she'd been certain it would burst out of her at some point and when he'd entered her, it  _had_ hurt, but Jon had been kind, holding her gently and kissing her sweetly. She could have wept with joy at that and she remembered wondering how she would have survived if it had been anyone else but him.

After that first time, it had been better. Jon's kisses and the touch of his hands sent all sorts of unfamiliar and confusing sensations through her body, but she liked it. She enjoyed having him inside her, even if she felt that odd ache again at times. Usually she ignored it and it would go away, but once it had only increased and she'd frozen in embarassment because it sort of felt as if she had to make water. He'd stopped then, fearing he was hurting her again, but the feeling had disappeared and she'd begged him to continue.

Sansa's body finally started to relax as it sank in she'd made it through another night with her husband making no attempts to touch her. Tyrion was a poor sleeper and always left her hours before dawn, but she rarely spent the rest of the night alone. Jon insisted every time she should try to get some sleep, touching the circles under her eyes with his thumb, a crease of worry between his eyebrows. She'd relented a couple of times, too tired to argue, but tonight she wouldn't. Something inside her stomach fluttered in anticipation of his visit.

The door opened and closed again and Jon whispered: "It's me," as he always did. He didn't need much convincing this night. Within minutes they were both naked, limbs tangled together and mouths hungrily devouring each other. Eventually his lips left hers to kiss her jaw and nip at her chin. He continued downward, licking and sucking at her throat and neck. Sansa loved the feeling of his soft lips on her skin, the way he paid special attention to her scars and fading bruises, but she enjoyed this even more.

He kissed a trail from her sternum to her navel and then he pressed his lips to the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. He'd never kissed her there before. Her legs opened of their own accord and his breath washed over the sensitive flesh there, sending a tingle through her loins and then she felt his lips on her sex. The most wanton sound she'd ever heard escaped from her lips. Jon gasped.

She propped herself up on her elbows to see him staring up at her, eyes wide. "Did you like that?" he asked her in a hoarse whisper.

She nodded eagerly.  _This isn't proper,_ a small voice in the back of her mind warned her.  _None of this is proper,_ she retorted mentally, before begging him: "Do it again."

He did so repeatedly, growing bolder and using his tongue as well as his lips after a while. Suddenly his mouth found a spot that felt so nice she snapped her thighs shut. Jon groaned, which made it even better, but she managed a strangled: "I'm sorry," just in case she'd hurt him. "Don't be," he muttered, head still trapped in place. He hooked her knees over his shoulders and continued licking and sucking.

That strange ache she'd felt before returned, but it was different this time. In fact it felt so excruciatingly good she started grinding her hips against his face to chase the feeling. She twined her fingers into his hair, uncertain whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. As she writhed and moaned, she was vagely aware that he was making similar sounds. The feeling almost became unbearable. She screwed her eyes shut, her back arching off the bed as her entire body tensed up and suddenly white light exploded behind her closed eyelids as a feeling of immense relief crashed through her limbs.

He sat up to gaze down at her, her ankles still draped around his neck and a look of awe on his face. "Sansa," he growled and she nodded. He balanced both of her legs against his right shoulder, holding them firmly with his arm and entered her. He'd been inside her over half a dozen times by now, but this time felt different. He closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against her calf. She was so slick they could both hear her wetness every time he moved in and out of her. From the look on his face, she could tell he liked that.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he moved his free hand around her hip to push his thumb to the spot his mouth had found earlier, rubbing it in circles. "I want to see that again," he told her. "Do you think you could peak again?"

It turned out she could and it didn't take her long. Moments after he grunted and she felt him release his seed inside her. He wrapped both of his arms around her knees, clinging to her for support. Opening his eyes, he panted out: "I could feel that, Sansa, that was- that was.."

He couldn't find the words to explain, but Sansa didn't mind. The pleasure he'd given her tonight was beyond anything she might have conjured up in her imagination and the only thing that could have made it more perfect was that grin of pure delight on his face.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's POV...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context about events at the Wall in this universe:
> 
> Jeor Mormont is still alive. Since the reason they found the wights North of the Wall was Jon and Sam taking their vows there and Ghost finding the wight's hand, the wights were never brought to Castle Black and Mormont's life was never in danger.
> 
> The Great Ranging took place anyway, because Mormont had been planning on it, with all the missing rangers and rumours and whatnot. Jon wasn't there to infiltrate the Wildlings and warn the Night's Watch about the attack, so Mance's plan was more succesfull in this universe.

The raven had come early that morning, bringing with it the most unexpected news since the start of this war. The Young Wolf had abandoned the Riverlands and marched his armies North again. Word was that Castle Black had fallen and the Wall had come under attack by an army of a hundred thousand Wildlings.

The Northerners wanted to call a truce and were sending envoys to Rosby to negotiate terms and the exchange of hostages. Cersei was thrilled obviously and had proposed to kill every last Northerner as soon as they got Jaime back and then send their armies through the Neck.

Their Lord Father had thanked her for her input and ordered her out of the Council Chambers. She had only relented after throwing one of her tantrums. Tyrion had barely been able to contain a snigger, thinking:  _Brilliant, sweet sister, Father will be deeply impressed._

Lord Tywin had insisted the rebellion in the Riverlands had to be eradicated, but that the North could be left to deal with the Ironborn and their other Wildling problems, while the Crown and the Lannisters took care of Stannis for good. Envoys would be chosen to meet the Northern party.

 _"You might want to inform your Lady Wife, Tyrion,"_ he'd added,  _"and be sure to continue your efforts in fulfilling your marital duties and producing an heir"_

So now Tyrion found himself on his way to Sansa's chambers - _our chambers-_ to tell her the news. He suspected the poor child was still hoping for her brother to come and rescue her from her captors. As he was about to knock on her door, he imagined himself following his Lord Father's advice and saying: 

_"So you see, Lady Sansa. Your brother has given up on his Southron rebellion in favour of protecting his Northern Border. You're stuck with me forever. Shall we go to bed then?"_

How could Lord Tywin expect him to  _continue his efforts_ after giving her that news? Come to think of it, he wondered what efforts he'd been referring to at all. He would bet all the gold in Casterly Rock that his father had Sansa's sheets checked regularly to confirm their marriage had been consummated. Since so far he hadn't been able to bring himself to do that, he'd actually expected some kind of reproof from his father, which oddly enough hadn't come.

One of his wife's maids opened the door and let him in. Sansa was frowning at an embroidery hoop in her lap, which she quickly set aside to smooth out her skirts and acknowledge his presence. "My Lord," she greeted him with a curtsey.

"My Lady," he answered, studying her blank face for a moment. "Would you mind if we dined together in your solar tonight?"

"If it please My Lord," she stated in a flat voice.  _Seven hells, when am I ever going to get a real response out of you?_ It must be the cold up North which made the Starks so suitable for this icy conduct. That bastard brother of hers appeared equally emotionless when someone addressed him. That thought reminded him the lad should probably be informed as well. "Shall we invite your brother to join us?"

She stared at him, not understanding and then something flashed in her eyes. Before he could examine it, it was gone and she had composed herself. "As you wish, My Lord."

"We shall meet in an hour then," he answered with a nod before turning around to head out of the room again.

For the next hour he tried to focus his attention on some ledgers and Littlefinger's notes.  _Master of Coin,_ he thought angrily, shaking his head,  _more like sufferer of gibberish and scion of thrice-damned mess._ Without having made much progress he left his desk with simmering frustration and a pounding headache. He wasn't expecting this dinner to improve his condition in any way.

When he arrived, Jon Snow was already seated next to Sansa, the both of them staring into nothingness. He sighed at the sight. He was aware the two of them had never been close, but they were still half-siblings. It seemed shared grief had not strengthened their bond. Sansa was unable to look past Tyrion being a dwarf. Perhaps it meant she couldn't forgive Jon Snow for being a bastard either. 

Once the food was laid out on the table, Tyrion ordered all the servants out. Dinner with Lady Aloof and Lord Dour was a quiet affair. When he told them the news, Sansa retracted her hands from the table and stared at her lap and Snow sat scowling at the wall behind Tyrion, pursing his lips so hard they appeared white. When their eyes met, Snow made an involuntary move, seemingly nothing more than a shrug, bringing him closer to Sansa, but she froze.

Tyrion felt that urge to comfort her as well and he almost reached out, but when her eyes flickered to him as she cringed away from her half-brother, he understood his presence was unwanted here. As he walked for the door, he allowed himself one last glance back and saw the two of them holding hands under the table.  _See, they just don't want you here, that's all._

As he wandered through the hallways of Maegor's Holdfast, he decided to leave the royal quarters to go look for Shae. At least that way he could pretend someone wanted him, if only for a while. He found her in an antechamber to Lollys' bedroom. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her lips were pressed together into a thin line. "She's horrible. I've finally managed to put her to bed. I made sure she'll stay there for a couple of hours."

He tried to control his tone. He had not come here to talk about Lollys Stokeworth. "Good, I have need of you, my lady."

Without further ado, he pulled her to the floor, not minding to consider the furniture in the room. As he made to untie his breeches, she scowled up at him, cooing in contrast: "Is that so, my Lion? Have you thought about what I want yet?"

He bunched up her skirts, grateful for her disregard for smallclothes as he immediately sank into her. He was in no mood to listen to her ramblings about the royal wedding. "I did not say I had need of your tongue. If I did, I would have you put it to other uses."

He closed his eyes as he pounded into her, losing himself in her wet heat. He didn't last long and Shae moaned as his seed pulsed into her.

He scrambled to his feet, tucking himself back into his breeches. "We'll discuss the wedding later," he told her, "I need to talk to my wife now."

Fucking Shae had eased some of the tension out of his body, but it hadn't made him feel better, the way he'd hoped it would. He had been born into a family that didn't want him, had ruled and saved a city that didn't want him, he'd fucked dozens of whores who wouldn't want him in a million years if it wasn't for his gold. What did it matter if his little lady wife didn't want him? He didn't even necessarily want her, not truly, but the fact remained they were bound together for life.

Perhaps he should have tried harder to form a connection with her, to offer her some comfort. He could promise to take her anywhere she'd like to go after that wretched wedding. He tried to push the thought that there was only one place she wanted to go out of his mind.  _Not now. Not yet._ One day he would take her to Winterfell and perhaps then she might find it in her heart to show him some affection. Not that she would. He could only return her to Winterfell if the rest of her family were dead, killed by Lannister hands. 

Still, taking her away from King's Landing, getting her out of the Red Keep might be a start. He rounded the corner and let himself in after a light knock on the door to announce his presence.

The first thing he saw was their faces. Sansa's head was inclined, forehead resting against Snow's, noses touching. His hand was cupping her cheek and their eyes were closed. He felt like an intruder walking in on such a tender display of intimacy, such an unfamiliar state of vulnerability.

That was before he had gotten a chance to take in the rest of their bodies. He let his eyes roam over their tousled curls, the sheen of sweat on their pale skin, the red lines that seemed extensions of Sansa's fingers on Snow's shoulders, his hand splayed on the small of her back, her slender legs wrapped around his waist. They weren't moving, but by the looks of it, he was still inside her. 

His first instinct was to back away silently, but it was too late, they'd heard him. The shocked looks on their faces were surely mirroring his own, but there was fear as well, which for a moment baffled him. He scoffed. Of course they were afraid. His innocent little wife was fucking her bastard brother and he'd just caught them in the act. Snow foolishly moved to shield Sansa with his body.

Tyrion realized his mouth had fallen open and raised a hand, pointing his finger at the younger man. "Do try to put a babe in her as quickly as possible, will you, Snow?"

Without waiting for a reaction, he whirled around, closing the door behind him. As he walked away from it, a loud guffaw burst forth from his mouth. He should be more upset about this, he ought to feel hurt, had every right to be enraged. Instead he felt oddly amused. He already knew his wife didn't want him. She'd practically told him she never would. What difference did it make if she preferred her own brother?

Mentally he repeated his own words and realization hit him. Whether it be consciously or not, Sansa was doing well concocting her little revenge on his family and in the end the jape would be on them.  _Don't worry, Father,_  he thought, _the next Lord of Winterfell is in the making. I'm looking forward to telling you the truth about it on your death bed._

 


End file.
